Page 10 of My Notorious Highlander

"Who is it?" Jessie asked from the other side of the thick oak door.

"What are you doing, MacBain?" Torrin said over his shoulder.

The man jumped and turned at the same time, bumping hard against the door. "What the devil are you doing following me?" he growled. At least he seemed almost sober now.

"Protecting the lady," Torrin said, keeping his voice low. "What are you doing?"

"None of your concern. Leave," he commanded through clenched teeth.

Torrin shook his head, giving MacBain his most menacing look.

"Don't open the door, Lady Jessie," Torrin warned her. "MacBain was trying to pay you a midnight visit."

She yanked the door open and her glare in the dim light pierced each of them. "Go, MacBain. I don't wish to see you, day or night."

The man's narrowed gaze remained on Torrin, then abruptly he tried to barrel his way past Jessie, into her room. Torrin caught him by his shoulder-length hair and yanked him back. The man struck out but missed. Releasing him, Torrin punched him in the nose and sent him sprawling to the wooden floor with a loud crash. MacBain growled and muttered curses as he held his bleeding nose.

"Bar the door, Lady Jessie," Torrin warned with a quick glance at her. She wore a plaid blanket wrapped around her with only a sliver of her white smock visible at the top of her chest. He quickly switched his gaze away from the appealing sight, lest he become distracted. "I'll take care of this blackguard."

"I thank you." The door slammed and the bar clunked into place.

Torrin shook his head, glaring down at the imbecilic man. "Are you daft?"

MacBain drew his blood-covered hand away from his crushed nose. "You bastard, I thought you a friend and ally or I would never have allowed you to come here with me."

Annoyance twisted through Torrin. "You didn't allow me to do anything. I was on my way here before I ever met you."

"So you say."

"I consider the MacKays friends and allies. I'll not let you harm one of them, certainly not a lady."

"I'm not planning to harm her. Do you ken naught about seduction, man?"

Torrin snorted. "If you consider that seduction, your skills are greatly lacking."

MacBain merely glared and shoved himself to his feet. Muttering insults and curses, he stumbled away, holding his broken nose.

Torrin glanced back at Jessie's door, glad she was safe this time. But knowing how sneaky MacBain was, he'd have to be ever vigilant.

∞∞∞

Jessie opened the door a crack and peered through. She watched Torrin stride confidently toward the stairwell, marveling at his height, broad shoulders and lean waist. Of course, he was an impressive warrior, but what amazed her most was his protective nature. She would've never guessed it based on what she'd seen in the past.

Although she considered herself a courageous woman, she would never be brave enough to confront him about killing her foster brother. But now she wouldn't be able to rest until she knew the truth. What reason would Torrin have had to kill Lyall Keith?

Silently, she closed the door and barred it, thankful that Torrin had stopped MacBain from taking advantage of her. Not that she would've let the rogue get away with anything. But she'd hate to stab the man while he was trying to crawl between her sheets. Knocking him on the head would've been another option, but she preferred the broken nose Torrin had given him. She grinned.

What was she going to do about Torrin? She paced to the fireplace and added more peat to the coals. What if he decided to stay for days or weeks? She hoped he would stay at least until MacBain left. She appreciated him putting a stop to MacBain's plans.

After removing the blanket she'd wrapped around herself and spreading it over the bed, she slid under the covers, thinking how Torrin disturbed her on so many levels. When she'd first met him last winter, face to face, she'd been near speechless. Immediately, she knew that he was the one who'd executed Lyall. She would recognize Torrin's face anywhere—handsome as the devil and just as wicked.

Not only was he a frightening and lethal warrior, an image from her worst nightmarish memories, but she also felt herself strangely drawn to his sinfully attractive presence. How could she be drawn to someone she knew to be a killer?

Since then, she'd gone over and over what she'd seen that day eight years ago. Had she misunderstood it, misinterpreted it? Although she'd only been sixteen summers, she remembered the day clearly for 'twas the most terrifying, traumatizing day of her life.

When she'd heard the men approaching on foot, yelling curses and threats, she'd climbed the old oak and hidden among the branches and leaves. Knowing her bright red hair might betray her, she'd covered her head with her plaid arisaid.

The eight MacLeods—although she hadn't known who they were at the time—had chased her foster brother and his best friend across the hilly cattle pasture. They wore various weaves of dull plaids, which would help conceal them among the heather and bracken if they were deer stalking. But clearly they were not deer stalking; they were out for her foster brother's blood. They all carried broadswords, dirks, and targes.